


Longing

by Fyre



Series: A Little Kindness [14]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: Avery pressed his eyes shut. The very thing he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about. The very thing he was angry about. And guilty for being so angry. It was a heart attack. It wasn’t on purpose. Wasn’t deliberate. Wasn’t any of those things, but every time – every time – he thought he could let his guard down for a minute, take something for himself, have a little respite…
Series: A Little Kindness [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107
Comments: 31
Kudos: 127





	Longing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts).



The sofa bed had a dip in the middle.

Avery tried his best not to slip into it, but turned out the bloody sofa had other ideas. Wasn’t worth pretending to be asleep when Tracy shuffled into the living room, across the floor, swearing under her breath when she stepped on some rogue toy.

“Shove up a bit,” she murmured, hauling up the blanket and crawling in behind him.

Avery shifted towards the other side, but inexorably, they both listed towards the middle of the bed and Tracy made the best of it by plastering herself against his back, warm and soft and… and not sharp bones and edges and hot breaths on his skin.

She nudged her forehead against the back of his neck and gave him a squeeze around his middle. “You all right?” she asked quietly.

Avery stared blindly at the arm of the sofa. There was a scribble running down from top to bottom. Felt tip pen. Looked black in the faint light through Sarah’s lacy curtains, but probably was garish green or red or something. Shame. It was a nice couch. Marred and ruined by something so simple.

“Az?”

He covered her hand on his belly, patted it. “Don’t know.”

She sighed softly, fondly. “Yeah. It’s a bugger of a thing, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” His words dried up, his throat tight and his eyes burning.

“Sorry it ruined your getaway,” she murmured.

He pressed his eyes shut. The very thing he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about. The very thing he was angry about. And guilty for being so angry. It was a _heart attack_. It wasn’t on purpose. Wasn’t deliberate. Wasn’t any of those things, but every time – _every time_ – he thought he could let his guard down for a minute, take something for himself, have a little respite…

“It happens,” he replied in a whisper, as if his heart hadn’t cracked in two. As if he hadn’t spent hours watching the sleepy lines of Crowley’s face. As if he hadn’t lain awake and listened to the other man breathing, soft and trusting and safe.

“Still.” She kissed his shoulder through his pyjamas. “Did you have a nice break? Before this?”

Nice.

What was broken felt like it was crumbling into even smaller pieces.

“Yes.” His eyes were wet but he blinked it away. Gift of the job, hiding the worst of your feelings, learning how to stop the tears when you had to. Skill, that. “It was nice. Relaxing.”

She rubbed her cheek along his shoulder and he knew the next question before she even said it. “Satisfactory, was it?”

He took a breath that wasn’t as shivery as it could have been. “You’re a dirty old baggage,” he murmured. He’d… had liaisons in the distant past and she regularly did on her little trips away, and more often than not, they’d spend a night on the couch at home, rather drunk and giving marks out of ten.

But… but this was different.

This wasn’t something to be giggled about over one too many glasses of her favourite white.

“Got to live vicariously,” she retorted fondly. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Mm.” He cleared his throat. “Can we, perhaps… not here? Not… not now.”

“Course, love.” She squeezed him again. “I’m glad he was there when you found out, y’know. Anthony. It’s better to have someone about when you get bad news. And driving you all this way as well.”

A kindness.

Crowley was always so damned kind. Generous to a fault.

“I was going to fly up, but he said it would be quicker,” he murmured, “by the time everything was arranged and what have you.”

“I should’ve got him booked into a travelodge,” she murmured. “Driving all the way up and back down in one go. S’a bit much.”

Avery had come so close to asking him to stay, a warm, welcoming haven against the battering storm, but… but, as always, as ever, he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk being seen with him somewhere they shouldn’t have been together. Couldn’t risk the need to bury himself in those familiar, protective arms, feel those long hands in his hair, the soft assurances in his ear.

“He likes driving,” he said, as if that made it all right. “Got a message. He made it back in good time.”

“I’ll send him a nice bottle or something,” she murmured. “A little thank you for looking after you for me.”

Avery had to press his lips closed, stifling the sound that rose in his throat.

Crowley _had_. He had looked after him so patiently and kindly, never once hesitating when Avery faltered. Taking him all in stride. Accepting him. Accepting this… mess of a human being as if Avery could ever be enough, all soft and closed in and sad and shapeless.

“Good idea,” he whispered. “I’ll… I’ll take something around when I get back.”

Take something around, sink to his knees, bury his face in Crowley’s lap and be anywhere but here, anywhere but the real world with all its risk and pitfalls and stepping lightly for fear of falling.

She snuggled up behind him, tucking her knees behind his as he had for her all those months ago. “You must be knackered, love,” she murmured. “Worry about that in the morning, all right? You need to get some sleep.”

“Mm.”

She yawned quietly, out like a light in seconds, but Avery stared blankly at the jagged line running down the arm of the sofa. He wanted to call Crowley, wanted to let out all the emotions that were sitting on his chest, suffocating him. He wanted to run away, run back to London, to Crowley’s door and cling onto him and never let go.

But now…

Now, even considering that…

Dad needed to be looked after. He had to be the priority. Nothing too strenuous, Daniel had said. Nothing too taxing. Nothing that might overstress him. Try not to let him get worked up about anything, he’d said.

Worked up.

Avery pressed his eyes shut, trying to will away the fresh burn of tears.

Close the door, turn the key, keep all the secrets inside.

Maybe… maybe Crowley could be inside with him. Close the door against the world, turn the key. Maybe it could be enough.


End file.
